


In Sickness and in Health

by dkwilliams



Series: Misconceptions Universe [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in 5000 years, Methos is sick, and he is not happy about.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place about a month prior to the birth of the twins

  
**Day One**

The day was cold, colder than normal, even for the early part of December, but the four Immortals didn't notice as they slowly made their way out of the movie theater with the rest of the crowd.

"Wasn't that the most incredible movie?" Richie crowed. "Those planes – man, what I wouldn't give to fly one of those babies!"

Methos smiled. "I thought that would impress you."

"I loved the mixture," Grace said. "Science fiction, comedy, suspense, romance - did you like it, Duncan?""

"More than I expected.  After all, Adam tried to lure me in by saying it’s about five elements that have to be united before the forces of evil arrive on earth." Duncan rolled his eyes at Methos, laughing.

"But that should be right up your alley, Mac," said Richie. "The eternal battle between good and evil. What d'you think, Adam? Doesn't it sound just like Mac?”

They'd never know what Methos thought for, unexpectedly, he stopped and sneezed forcefully but almost inaudibly, with a strange choking sound. Conversation halted, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"What was _that_?" Richie asked.

"A sneeze," Methos retorted. "We still do it from time to time, you know."

Duncan frowned as he studied his lover. "Are you okay?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm _fine_. Just had a little tickle in my nose – " He paused and sneezed again. "Twice."

"And that's a hell of a nose to get a tickle in," Richie teased.

"Very funny." Methos sneezed again.

"Sounds like you might have caught a cold," Grace said, feeling his forehead. "You're a little warm but not feverish."

"Immortals don't _get_ colds," Methos said crossly.

"Immortals with reduced healing apparently do," Grace retorted. She turned to Duncan. "We really should get him home and let me look him over."

"But we were going to the new bookstore!"

"You can come back when you're feeling better," Grace stated.

"Is it serious?" Duncan asked, brow furrowing.

"If it was the flu it might be, but I suspect he just has an ordinary cold. Still, no point in taking any chances. If it _is_ influenza, there could be complications."

"I'm _fine_ ," Methos repeated. "And I had a flu shot in July."

"You're going home," Duncan declared, turning toward the parking lot.

Grace glanced around and saw a pharmacy nearby. "I'll meet you at the car, Duncan. I'm going to pick up some medicine for Adam."

Methos sneezed again as they headed toward the car, and Duncan glared at him. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you weren't feeling well?"

Methos sighed. "Mac, I'm not sick. I have a little tickle in my throat and my nose, but other than that I feel fine."

"You didn't eat much breakfast," Duncan recalled, unlocking the door and helping Methos into the front seat. "Were you feeling sick then? We could have postponed our trip."

"How many times do I have to say it? I'm _fine_."

Grace returned with a bag of medicines and they headed home. By the time they got home, Methos had sneezed another dozen times and was starting to concede that he might be feeling a _little_ under the weather.

"But it's not like I have the plague," he insisted. "It's just a little cold. Mortals get them two or three times a year."

"You're not mortal, you're pregnant, and you haven’t been sick for over five thousand years," Duncan pointed out, steering Methos towards the stairs. "That you remember, at any rate. Bed."

"I'll be up to check on him in a few minutes," Grace called out as Duncan steered his grumbling spouse toward the stairs. "Richie, would you take a look in the kitchen and let me know what fruits, juices, and soups we have on hand. I might need you to make a supply run later."

Meanwhile, Methos groaned as he sat on the side of the bed.

"God, why do I suddenly feel so horrible?"

"Because you're sick, Mr. 'I'm-Fine-So-Stop-Fussing'." Duncan knelt to remove Methos' shoes. "Damn it, your feet must have been sweating.  Your socks are soaked." He pulled off the socks. "I'll get some dry ones and your sweats. Think you can manage to get your clothes off?"

"Of course I can. I'm not a child."

"Could have fooled me," Duncan muttered. When he returned to the bed, Methos was trapped in his shirt as he had tried to pull off without unbuttoning it. Duncan quickly stripped Methos out of his clothes, and then helped him into the sweats and thick socks. "Better?" he asked as he pulled down the sheets and blankets so that Methos could get into bed.

"It's cold," Methos complained as he slid between the sheets.

"That's because I'm not in there for you to put your cold feet on."

"D'you remember warming pans? I loved getting into a nicely warmed bed," Methos said dreamily, rolling onto his side and snuggling into a pillow.

"Yeah, and I remember sharing my bed with about a dozen unfriendly life forms," Duncan retorted. He went to the fireplace and lit the kindling there. "This should help take the chill off the room. Need any more blankets?"

"Need _you_ ," Methos said plaintively. "Come warm my toes, Duncan?"

Grace knocked on the door and then entered the room. "All settled? Sit up, Methos, and let me take your temperature." She popped the thermometer into his mouth and took his pulse while they waited.

"Pulse is steady, and temperature is just over 100 degrees, which is perfectly normal for a cold. Open your mouth again and let me take a good look."  After a brief survey, Grace nodded with relief.  "There's no infection in the throat but quite a lot of congestion in the nasal passages, and there seems to be a little fluid behind the eardrums. Any aches or pains?"

"My head," Methos admitted.

Grace nodded. "Just what I expected: a cold."

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Duncan asked anxiously.

Grace smiled. "Duncan, it's a _cold_.  He'll be perfectly fine in a week, maybe less.  All we can really do is treat the symptoms and make him comfortable till he gets through it."

"In case you didn't notice, I _am_ here in the room with you."

"No one's in any doubt of that," Duncan retorted.  He leaned over to kiss Methos' cheek.  "Can I get you anything?  Are you thirsty or hungry?"

Methos made a face at the mention of food but admitted to being thirsty, and Duncan hurried downstairs to get something for him to drink.

Meanwhile, Grace was setting out medicines on the nightstand, and Methos frowned as he watched her. "I won't take anything that might hurt the babies."

"Don't worry, the medicines I've chosen are safe for both you and the babies. No alcohol, aspirin, or ibuprofen. Most are the children's version as well." Grace opened a bottle and tipped a couple of tablets into her hand, then held them out with a glass of water. "Paracetamol. It'll help with the headache."

Methos reluctantly took the tablets, making a face. "I hate taking medicine."

"I know, and I also know that doctors make the worst patients, but between us, I think Duncan and I can out stubborn you. Lie down and rest."

Methos closed his eyes which were starting to itch. "Yes, doctor," he murmured and let himself drift.

Richie entered, a list in his hand. "We've got a ton of frozen juices.  Mac's pouring what we had in the fridge into a thermos and says he'll make up another pitcher.  There's a coupla cans of soup stock, but not much of the ready made kind.  Mac's heating up some of the soup Joe made last time he was here, and he says there's another container in the freezer."

"We'll save that for when he's feeling really cranky," Grace said and Methos snorted.  She consulted the list. "Pick up whatever fresh fruit you can find, anything juicy that can be sliced so it's easy to eat.  A soup bone to go with the stock we've got.  Oh, and a dozen cans of ready-made soup – onion, bouillon, vegetable.  I picked up a box of tissues, but he's going to need a lot more.  Lemonade.  That should do it."

Richie nodded and tucked the list in his pocket. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Grace sat down on the bed beside Methos and brushed the hair off his forehead. "Feeling any better?" she asked softly.

"Mmm," he admitted, his eyes still closed. "A little."

She looked up as Duncan came through the door with a tray. "I'm going to leave you in Duncan's capable hands while I go fill Julian in on this development.  He may have some other recommendations.  Duncan, I've given him some pain medication and that should make him feel better. See if you can get him to eat most of that and then rest."

Duncan nodded and set the tray on the nightstand.  Methos cracked open an eye and groaned.

"Do I have to sit up?"

"Unless you know a way to take chicken soup intravenously, yes."

Methos perked up. "Joe's chicken soup?"

"The very same."

"I can't smell it," Methos complained, pushing into a sitting position. "I've always had a great sense of smell."

"Big surprise," Duncan murmured.

"Although at times that was more of a curse than a blessing. Renaissance bathing standards…" Methos shuddered. "But I can't smell _anything_ now."

Duncan stuffed some pillows behind Methos' back and then set the tray on his lap. "You need any help with that?"

Methos glared at him. "Thanks. I think I can manage." Duncan shrugged and headed toward the stairs. "Mac? Keep me company?"

Duncan turned back, smiling.  "Of course."  He settled on the other side of the bed, careful not to jar the tray.

Methos took a mouthful of the soup and made a face.  "I can't smell it, can't taste it – what's the point of eating the bloody stuff?"

"It'll warm you up and make you feel better," Duncan said coaxingly. "Try to eat."

Grumbling, Methos ate most of the soup and drank the tea, but couldn't manage the toast.

"Can I go to sleep now?" he asked plaintively.

Duncan nodded, setting the tray aside. He tucked Methos back under the covers and brushed a kiss over his forehead. It felt a little cooler than before and slightly damp. "Sleep, sweetheart," he said softly. "One of us will be with you while you rest."

Grace came back in shortly afterwards and glanced over the tray. "He managed most of it?"

Duncan nodded and murmured, "I think the toast was too rough on his throat. I'll try some soft egg on toast in the morning."

"Don't be too concerned if he doesn't have much of an appetite," Grace warned him. "It's a common side affect of both the cold and the medication. As long as we keep a lot of fluids down him, he'll be fine."

"His breathing seems a little rough," Duncan said softly.

"It's hard for him to breath while he's congested. I've got a humidifier downstairs – babies often need them during the winter months when the air is so dry.  We'll set it up and that should help."  She squeezed Duncan's hand.  "You should get some rest while you can. I imagine he's going to keep all of us hopping, especially later when the cold moves into his chest.  I've got some cough medicine to help and a salve to rub on his chest, but he'll have trouble sleeping and I doubt you'll get much sleep either."

Duncan nodded and toed off his shoes. Lifting the covers, he crawled into the bed behind Methos, cuddling up to his back. Grace smiled at the picture they made, wishing she had her camera, then picked up the tray and headed downstairs.

* * *

**Day Two**

Methos sat in bed, glaring at Duncan, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't want it," he croaked, gesturing at the lunch tray in Duncan's hands.

Methos had awakened feeling absolutely rotten.  His nose ran all the time and was sore from blowing it.  His eyes felt like sandpaper had been rubbed over them and his body ached all over.  He was miserable and surrounded by idiots who insisted on being obnoxiously loud and disgustingly cheerful.  

Duncan sighed. "Methos, you need to eat _something_."

"Don't want to," Methos said hoarsely. "Throat hurts. Head hurts. Eyes hurt. Whole bloody body hurts."

"I know," Duncan said sympathetically.

Methos' eyes glittered at him, but Duncan wasn't sure if that was because Methos was mad or because the cold was making them water. "You _don't_ know. You're not sick."

"No, but I remember how miserable Tessa got when she got a cold."

"Oh, goody," Methos snorted. "Just what I want to hear – stories about past lovers."

Duncan bit his tongue to keep from snapping at him.  Methos had become more and more irritable as the day passed, and he was beginning to wonder if they'd survive till he got better.

"What would you like to hear? Music? Want me to read aloud again?"

"I want to feel better," Methos said fretfully. "I'm sick of this bed. I want to go downstairs."

"Grace said you can go downstairs when you're not feeling so shaky.  The last thing we need is for you to take a header down the stairs."

Methos glared at Duncan again. "You did this to me."

Duncan gaped at him. "How in the hell do you think I could have given you a cold? I don't _get_ the damn things!"

"I know," Methos said resentfully. " _I_ get them. Just like every other bloody thing. Swollen feet, nausea, stretch marks."

Duncan closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient. "And if I could change that, you know I would.  I'd have the babies myself if there was any damn way."

Methos closed his eyes and his hand went to his belly. "Bloody hell," he muttered, reaching for a handful of tissues. "Ignore me, Mac. In fact, you should just let me suffer up here alone.  I'm being a complete heel and clearly out of my head." He sneezed into the tissues. "I feel _miserable_."

"I know, sweetheart," Duncan said, setting aside the tray. "Drink the juice and take the medicine, okay? Then we'll try a nice warm bath, and maybe a body rub after that?"

"Yeah?" Methos said, looking at Duncan through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. "With the _good_ oils?"  He accepted the glass of juice.

Duncan laughed. "Methos, my love, I doubt even _you_ are up for that kind of activity right now."

Methos sighed and nodded in acknowledgement. "Raincheck?"

"The minute you're feeling better," Duncan promised. "Whatever edible oil you want."

Methos gave him a mischievous look. "Or the body paints?"

"If I didn't know better," Duncan said with mock severity, "I'd say you were milking this."

Methos grinned, looking more like his usual self. "For all it's worth." Then he broke into a wet-sounding cough. "Bloody hell, it's in my chest now."

"Grace left something for you to take if you started coughing," Duncan said, sorting through the items on the nightstand. He picked up a bottle, poured out a dose and handed it to Methos, who studied it suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"Cough medicine.  Rhinatoil – it's for children so it should be okay."

Methos drank it, and then made a face. "God, that's terrible! They actually subject _children_ to that?" He drank the water Duncan gave him and then collapsed back on the pillows. "Mac, I feel wretched."

"I know.  Want that bath now?"

"Don't want to move," Methos grumbled, then looked over at Duncan in appeal. "Get in with me? I might be able to sleep if you hold me."

Duncan smiled and pulled off his shoes, then crawled into bed with Methos. The older Immortal scooted down and settled his head on Duncan's shoulder, his belly on Duncan's thigh. Closing his eyes, he went to sleep.

* * *

Duncan was awakened by the sound of hoarse, muffled coughing. He blinked his eyes open and reached for the bedside light, then rolled over to look at Methos. His lover was lying on his side, his face against a pillow, his body shaking with coughing.

"Methos?" he asked, concerned.  Methos didn't reply, occupied as he was by another racking cough. Duncan sat up and pulled Methos up against him, rubbing his spouse's back as he tried to catch his breath.

"Sorry," Methos gasped, red-faced with effort. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"You _should_ have woken me," Duncan scolded softly. "I'm here to help."

Methos shook his head. "You need sleep – " He was interrupted by another wave of coughing. Duncan reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of medicine. "Not that crap," Methos protested. "I'd rather die coughing."

"Well, Grace said we could try these," Duncan said, holding up a box of suppositories. Methos narrowed his eyes at Duncan.

"You are _not_ shoving that up my arse."

"Methos, it'll make you feel better," Duncan said coaxingly, easing back the covers. Methos was weakened by the cold and Duncan knew it would be easy to hold him down long enough to insert it.

"Let me put it this way, Mac," Methos growled. "Put that up me, and it'll be the _last_ thing you put up me for a long, long time."

Duncan recognized the note of finality in Methos' voice and sighed. "Fine." He set the box back on the nightstand, pulling the covers back up into place. "What about lozenges? Grace said these were supposed to be wonderful."

"I'll try them," Methos said grudgingly and Duncan popped a lozenge into his mouth.

Methos sucked on it. "Not too bad," he said hoarsely. He closed his eyes and sagged against Duncan's shoulder.

"Your sweats are damp again," Duncan said. "Let's get you changed."  He shifted Methos to rest against the headboard and grabbed a spare set of sweats from the dresser.  Detouring into the bathroom, he grabbed a warm washcloth and towel, and then went back to the bed.

Accustomed to the routine by now, Methos sat quietly while Duncan stripped off his sweatshirt, washed and dried his upper body, then pulled on a fresh sweatshirt. Duncan repeated the process with the bottoms, then guided Methos over to one of the chairs and brought him a glass of juice.

"Drink this slowly while I remake the bed."

Methos nodded and wrapped both hands around the glass. "Sorry," he said hoarsely.

"For what?" Duncan asked, pulling the blankets and comforter off the bed. He stripped the sheets and pillowcases, then pulled fresh linens out and started remaking the bed.

"Being so much trouble."

Duncan chuckled as he spread the blankets back on the bed. "Don't be silly. We make more of a mess having sex."

"Least you get that benefit," Methos said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Methos, we've gone much longer than a few days without sex," Duncan reminded him. He fluffed up the pillows and turned down the sheets. "Let's get you back in bed and I'll put some of the vapor rub on your chest."

Methos passively settled back in bed, shutting his eyes as Duncan lifted up his sweatshirt and began smearing the rub on his chest. "Mmm. Feels good," he murmured.

"Bet it does." Duncan playfully dabbed the end of Methos' nose with the rub and Methos opened his eyes to glare at him. "Sorry. It's just such a tempting target."

"Fixation with my nose, Mac?" Methos croaked, then sniffed a little. "Better, though. I can breathe a little."

"Good." Duncan turned to the nightstand again. "Need anything? Another drink? Nose spray?"

"Another lozenge?"

Duncan unwrapped one and popped it into Methos' mouth, then settled against the headboard of the bed and drew his lover into his arms.  Methos went willingly, sighing in contentment as he rested his head on Duncan's shoulder.

"Better?" Duncan asked.

"Mmm," Methos said sleepily. "Can sleep now."

"Go to sleep," Duncan said affectionately, rubbing Methos' back with his hand. "I'll take care of you."

Methos made a sleepy murmur and drifted into sleep.

* * *

**Day Three**

Grace listened to Methos' breathing, then checked his eyes, ears, nose and throat. "You seem to be doing a little better today. Not as congested. Your throat looks raw, but that's to be expected at this point."

Methos nodded and popped another lozenge into his mouth.  He was almost completely hoarse now which was frustrating him more than anything else.  Duncan had been frantic when they woke up that morning and found that Methos couldn't talk.  He had thrown on a robe and run for Grace immediately.

"He can't _talk_ ," Duncan almost shouted. "That can't _possibly_ be better!"

"Duncan, he had to get worse before he could get better," Grace said, calm even in the face of the Scot's frantic worry. "The drainage from his sinuses and the coughing irritated his throat.  Now that his head's clearing, there won't be nearly as much irritation and his throat will get better."

"What about the coughing? He was up most of the night, even with the humidifier running. The only way he slept was propped up against me."

"That's the body's natural way of clearing the lungs.  In fact, I don't want him taking any cough suppressants during the day – save those for night. He can continue using those lozenges if they help."  She looked at Duncan appraisingly.  "You don't appear to have slept much, either. I suggest you both go back to bed for a couple hours. I'll bring up some breakfast for you both later."

Duncan rubbed his face with his hand and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'm wiped." He turned in time to see guilt on Methos' face and teasingly shook a finger at him. "Don't you give me that look.  You don't do guilt, remember?"

Methos rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, and Duncan turned to Grace with a tired grin. "Amazing how he manages to say so much without speaking a word."

Grace smiled. "It's a gift.  Into bed with you now, and I'll bring up some hot tea and oatmeal for both of you." Methos made a face and she said, "You may not like it, but it'll be easy on your throat.  You want it to heal quickly, don't you?  And after you finish, we'll tuck you in on the couch downstairs and you can watch some of your horrible movies. How does that sound?"

Methos gave her a look that spoke volumes, and Grace chuckled as she went downstairs to prepare breakfast. Duncan crawled into bed and cuddled close to Methos before falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

**Day Four**

"I'm going to kill him, Joe," Duncan said. "I swear I'm going to kill him."

"Now, Mac, you know you don't mean that," Joe's voice said soothingly over the phone.

"You don't know what he's like. I thought yesterday was horrible when he couldn't talk, but today his throat's better and it's actually worse!  He never stops complaining!  One minute he's hot, the next he's cold.  He's hungry but doesn't want soup.  He wants soup but it's too hot or not hot enough. There are too many pillows on the bed, or not enough. He wants to be downstairs with people and then it's too noisy so he wants to be upstairs where it's quiet. He's driving me out of my mind!"

"Mac, he's sick and feeling miserable," Joe said patiently. "How long has it been since you nursed someone who was sick? Not since Tessa, right?"

"Tessa was never this – this _difficult_."

"Tessa was a woman."

"Obviously, but what has _that_ got to do with anything?"

"According to my Mom, a lot. She always said my dad and I were ten times worse than my sister when we were sick."

"Well, that's informative but not very helpful, Joe," Duncan said sarcastically.

"Does he seem to be feeling better today?"

"A little," Duncan admitted. "He doesn't have the body aches any more, he's not nearly as congested, and his temperature is almost normal. But his coughing sounds worse."

"Typical," Joe said. "Just remember, I'll be down there this afternoon so I can give you a break."

"I appreciate it, Joe," Duncan said gratefully.

"Don't mention it. I'm fond of the bastard myself."

* * *

By the time Joe drove in, Methos had managed two good hours of sleep on the couch without coughing and was looking significantly better than he had the past few days.  He was almost pathetically glad to see Joe, and the Watcher settled in the armchair and proceeded to amuse him with gossip from Watcher headquarters.

Duncan, seeing that Methos was in good hands, changed into sweats and went out for his first run since Methos had become ill.  The crisp December air and the exercise chased away the cobwebs from days of inactivity and worry, and by the time he returned to the house, he was able to chuckle at his own over-protectiveness during the past few days.  He opted for a soak in the warm springs before going up to shower, and when he came down to dinner, felt like a new man.

The look Methos gave him as he came back into the living room boosted his sense of well being even more. Methos' eyes flicked down his body and back to his face, and a familiar look of amusement and budding arousal lit his hazel eyes. Duncan couldn't help but be pleased by the reaction; even though he'd been honest when he said they could go without sex for longer than a week, he couldn't deny that it was flattering to know his lover still thought he was sexy. Not that there was anything they could do about it right now – Methos was still too wiped out for any shenanigans – but it boded well for later.

Dinner was a relaxed, pleasant affair. In deference to Methos, they all ate in the living room off lap trays, watching one of the movies Duncan's friend had sent him with the new movie-playing device. Methos was quite frankly taken with the new technology and had to be persuaded to stop playing with the buttons so they could watch the movie itself instead of the interviews with directors and such.  Joe was intrigued with the idea, particularly if it could be applied to capturing musical events in higher quality than tapes could provide, but Richie was openly skeptical that the technology would last.

"You can get – what? – a total of five movies now?   _And_ they're more expensive than tapes, and you can't even _rent_ the damn disks – you have to buy them."

"There'll be more," Methos predicted, and Richie snorted.

"Right. I bet you said the same thing about 8-tracks and Beta vision tapes. Remember what happened to them?"

Duncan shushed both of them before they started into a familiar squabble, and they all settled down to watch the movie. Methos had shifted to a half-reclining position on the couch, his back against Duncan's chest with the Scot's arm wrapped around him. Halfway through the movie, Duncan became aware of the heaviness of the body in his arms and, realizing that Methos was nearly asleep, chivvied him up to bed. Methos protested, whining that it was Joe's first night there and that he'd had a nap and wasn't a bit tired, but the drooping of his eyelids was a dead giveaway. With a last goodnight to Joe, Methos allowed himself to be escorted off to bed.

* * *

**Day Five**

Methos awoke to light streaming in from the windows and the gentle hiss of the vaporizer from the nightstand beside him. He breathed in deeply, marveling at the easy sensation and the ability to _smell_ again. There was a slight mediciney tint in the air, combined with the scent of sleep-warmed Duncan, and Methos found himself grinning.

He rolled over in bed, enjoying the freedom to move without any of his body parts aching, and found himself face-to-face with Duncan. He kissed Duncan's nose and grinned as he frowned and muttered something under his breath.

"Duncan," he murmured. He leaned over and nipped Duncan's earlobe, then murmured in his ear, "Duncan, wake up."

Duncan blinked open his eyes and, finding a clear-eyed and smiling Methos looking down at him, smiled back. "Morning," he murmured. "I see someone is feeling a lot better today."

"Much, much better," Methos purred, and nipped back along Duncan's jaw line till he reached his mouth.

Duncan returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Methos. "What do you say," he murmured, nuzzling Methos' neck, "about taking a nice, long bath together, and then getting the oils and paints out and get messy again?"

Methos chuckled and tugged Duncan's head back up so he could kiss him again. "I think that sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

End


End file.
